


Show You Mine

by Decepticonsensual



Series: He Jests at Scars [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarn and Deathsaurus compare scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show You Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enfilade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/gifts).



> For a request on Tumblr with the prompt "let me see your scars". Mild descriptions of injuries; no other warnings.

Tarn thought he’d kept the flicker of his gaze brief and unobtrusive, but when he glanced up again, Deathsaurus was watching him, a faint smile playing over his mouth.

“Carbon scoring,” he said before Tarn could so much as begin to apologise for looking.  With a fluid movement, Deathsaurus pivoted so that the entire scar was on display, from hip joint down over the (almost obscenely lush) curve of his aft, and snaking over the top of his leg before disappearing between his thighs:  “I’d just come running across the field, slid to a stop -” he mimed the motion, shifting his impressive weight lightly forward into a defensive stance - “and caught a blast from a Wrecker cannon that would have taken off my second-in-command’s head; it wasn’t deep, but the metal won’t take paint anymore.”

Deathsaurus’s shrug was offhand, and Tarn envied him for a moment; he’d never met someone so casually at ease in their own plating, battle scars and all, and he couldn’t help but contrast Deathsaurus’s badge of courage and self-sacrifice (which, he had to admit, framed the War World commander’s aft in a way that was not at _all_ unbecoming) with his own messy web of scars, tucked away under his mask like a shameful secret.

Deathsaurus’s head was tilted slightly, studying the frayed metal just visible through the optic hole of the mask, but Tarn knew the mech would never ask… which might be what made Tarn reach up and unlatch the sides of the mask, slowly drawing it away as he explained, as evenly as possible, “Took a faceful of radiation in the early days of the war, when we didn’t have the resources for a full cosmetic repair; I could get it fixed now, I suppose, but…”

“But you made your choice,” Deathsaurus finished for him, nodding at the mask, and then he lifted his fingertips and ghosted them over Tarn’s face without touching.  “Suits you.”


End file.
